


Batteries not Included

by Pervasive_Threnody



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-18 21:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pervasive_Threnody/pseuds/Pervasive_Threnody
Summary: Point is, John's a guy with things to do, Rodney knows he's a guy with things to do, and heknowsRodney knows he's a guy with things to do.  So when Rodney starts paging him one day, what seems like at least once an hour, excitedly trying to get John to come see the whatever doohickey he's found, maybe it gets on John's nerves more than it should.  And he can only ignore and mumble and deflect so many times before he finally snaps the "Damn it, McKay,what" that makes the radio go blessedly silent and finally shuts Rodney down for a while.  Thank god.





	Batteries not Included

Despite appearances to the contrary, John really is a busy man.  He's got supply chains to manage, paperwork to complete and file, training to oversee, missions to run, asses to be kicked--okay, usually it's _his_ ass getting kicked somehow, but that _counts_ as busy, damn it.  
  
Point is, John's a guy with things to do, Rodney knows he's a guy with things to do, and he _knows_ Rodney knows he's a guy with things to do.  So when Rodney starts paging him one day, what seems like at _least_ once an hour, excitedly trying to get John to come see the whatever doohickey he's found, maybe it gets on John's nerves more than it should.  And he can only ignore and mumble and deflect so many times before he finally snaps the "Damn it, McKay, _what_ " that makes the radio go blessedly silent and finally shuts Rodney down for a while.  Thank god.  
  
And if Rodney sounds chastised and hurt and small when he signs off, well, John doesn't think about it for long.  Rodney'll get over it.  He's a big kid, and a busy guy too, after all.    
  
And John has Things to Do.  
  
***  
  
It's not until several more hours and maybe one or two meals later that his thoughts return to Rodney again, and that by way of Teyla, who settles in across from him at the table and says, point-blank, or as point-blank as Teyla ever gets,  
  
"Have you spoken with Dr. McKay recently?"  
  
The formal title gets John's attention.  He looks up from his sort-of stew.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"I believe he wishes to speak with you."  
  
"Yeah, I got that."  
  
She gives him a Teyla-look.  "The friendship and trust of another is a gift so rarely bestowed, of which there is no sum of greater value, such that no sum in the world can easily hope to mend when it is broken."  
  
"Yeah, yeah."  John sighs, abandoning his almost-food.  "I'll go find him."  
  
***  
  
Rodney ends up finding _him_ in the hallway, actually, which is a surprise, and yet not.  At least he's done sulking.  
  
"Are you done sulking?" Rodney asks.  John gives him a squinty face.  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Good."  Rodney lets out a breath and thrusts a largeish box at John.  He hadn't even noticed it was there.  "This is for, well, you."  
  
John puts a hand to his heart.  "For me?  You shouldn't have."  
  
"I know."    
  
John knows the shape of those words.  He lets it slide and pulls the top off the box.  Inside are a bunch of yellowed old newspapers.  
  
"You _really_ shouldn't have."  
  
Rodney makes a noise and yanks some of the papers off himself.  John smacks his hand away.  
  
"Get your own!"  
  
"Oh, no, no, much as I'd like to, Colonel, this one has _your_ name written all over it."  
  
There's something grayish and metallic-looking nestled in the papers.  John yanks the fishwrap aside, to find what looks like a--  
  
"A toy Jumper?"  
  
It looks pretty realistic, more like a replica than a simple toy.  John reaches with his free hand to touch it.  Rodney beats him to it.  
  
"Whoa," John says as the thing lights up.  "Now that's--"  
  
And rises out of the box, into the air.  
  
"Holy shit," he breathes, watching it hover.  "Is it really--"  
  
"Yes," Rodney says tightly, in his I-hate-interfacing-with-this-thing voice, "though I'm rather a terrible pilot--just think at it and--"  
  
But John's already on it, clearing his mind, reaching through the space in his head, and he feels Rodney's tenuous control drop away as his own takes over.  
  
It's a real, honest-to-fuck, remotely-controlled replica/toy Jumper, with realistic lights and whooshing sounds, that he can manipulate with his _mind_ , and John just.  He can't even.  
  
He eases the mini-Jumper back into the box, backs out of the interface, and turns to look at Rodney, who's got his chin lifted, arms linked behind his back.  When he speaks his diction is formal, his voice high and stiff.  
  
"I, I have to say I'm neglectful of gifts of occasion and so forth, and that when I'm not they usually aren't very good; but, ah, I managed to plan in advance, and I hope this is, well, adequate?  So, happy early birthday."  
  
_Adequate_.  It hits John like a punch to the gut, a reminder that Rodney still thinks his worth is tied to the favors he can curry, the things he can do, fix, give, _no_.  
  
He breaks.  Grabs Rodney and reels him in hard, pulling him close, tight.  
  
"Shit," he says, "shit, I'm sorry, buddy, I'm so sorry," and before he's rubbed two blue words together Rodney's already clinging back, and John kisses his temple and cheek and neck and tries to say things, but gives up momentarily because Rodney's guiding their lips together and grabbing for John's ass right the fuck there in public, and that's so much better than words, so good he's beyond giving a shit.  
  
"So it's," Rodney manages around frantic, messy kisses, "it's good?"  
  
"You think I care about 'adequate'?  I could do you right now," John growls into his ear, "here, on the floor and not give a fuck who walks by."  
  
Rodney squeaks, flexing sharply as he clutches the small of John's back, like that really does it for him.  Interesting.    
  
"Oh, yes, I, while I like that idea very much please, can it possibly be on a couch or perhaps a conveniently available cushion, because, you see, my back--"  
  
Theory confirmed.  John laughs and takes him by the arm.  
  
"Some other time.  C'mon."  
  
***  
  
He's a busy man, with a busy man's things to do.  But being the particular sort of busy man John is, every great once in a while he can bring himself put in the call that makes all the work go away for a few hours, no questions asked.  
  
It'll still be there tomorrow, and come back with its friends, in triplicate, but John doesn't think about it, puts it to the back of his mind and does what he does best:  Focusing on the here and now.  Intently.  
  
"Oh.  Oh, my god.  Right _there_ , oh, oh _John_ , ohjesus."  
  
In the here and now Rodney's spasming against John's fingers, his hands white-knuckled in the sheets.  His head falls back on a long, filthy moan, exposing his soft, warm neck, and John bends to kiss it.  
  
"Come on, come _on_..."  
  
"Slow down," John murmurs against his throat.  "It'll be over soon enough."  
  
"That's rich," Rodney gasps, "Colonel Busybody.  Don't you have--"  
  
John twists his fingers, takes him in hand.  "I make time for what's important."  
  
Rodney whines and arches into John's hand and comes.  
  
"Jesus," he pants, blinking at John through slitted eyes, "I should make you these kinds of toys more often, if--"  
  
But John's already up and moving, cutting him off before he can finish that line of thought, because--  
  
"No," he growls, and maybe pushes in with a little more force than he intended, but Rodney has to know.  "That's not--you don't get it--Jesus, how do I make you _see_ \--"  
  
But when John looks down at Rodney he's just _laughing_ , the asshole, his whole face lit up with the joy of it, and John just smiles and shakes his head and gets back to work--the best kind of work, where John can show Rodney with his whole body how much he's wanted, appreciated, needed, and maybe even, damn it, yeah, _loved_.  
  
"Yeah," he says.  "Yeah, maybe you should."  
  
***  
  
Later, when it's dark and quiet, John maybe squishes his face a certain way, and there's maybe some realistic lights and wooshing noises--  
  
"Tater tots!" Rodney yells, batting the space in front of his head, then "Oh, you son of a _bitch_ " as John breaks himself laughing.  "The things I do for you, and this is how you repay me--"  
  
"Okay, okay--" John tries to get ahold of himself and fails miserably, because, fuck, _tater tots_.  
  
"I'm going to have nightmares for _years_ \--"  
  
John brings the mini-Jumper to a careful bedside landing.  "I'll kiss them better," he says, mock-solemnly, when he can breathe again, "have no fear."  He stretches out his body to blanket Rodney's, the toy forgotten for now.  
  
"All of them?" Rodney asks, his voice hopeful, peering up at John through the darkness with big eyes.  
  
The words are out of John's mouth before he even thinks about them, has time to process what it might mean, for _them_ , long-term, as dangerous as this place--as dangerous as _life_ is.  Still, he knows, for him there was never another answer to give.    
  
Means it in every way when he says,  
  
"Every one."  


**Author's Note:**

> Title is supposed to be a poor attempt at a play on words: Obviously most cool toys come with that disappointing phrase attached, but a relationship also needs "batteries" too, so to speak. Won't get very far without a steady supply of energy and effort put into it.
> 
> Something like that.
> 
> Thanks for reading. :D


End file.
